


Follow You

by chibiwriter



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Red Lyrium, Serious
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-03-29 08:51:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3890122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibiwriter/pseuds/chibiwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd always thought so long as they were together, everything would be alright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I enjoy following you

His footsteps made dull sounds on the hardened dirt of the roadway. Snow fell lightly in gentle, swirling patterns and caught on his hair and beard and cloak. His breath made warm puffs of steam, visible even on this bleak, gray day. But it was not the somber atmosphere nor even the fact that he had not had a decent night’s sleep in Maker knew how long that made his heart clench in his chest and his stomach roll.

It was the lighter, quieter footsteps that followed his.

Hawke stopped abruptly, swallowing harshly as the footsteps stumbled then stopped as well. The air stung his nostrils as his breathed in sharply, heart squeezing and throat tight.

He opened his mouth to say - what? That he was sorry? The other wouldn’t hear of it. That he loved him? Empty words at this point, destined only to fill the silence that stretched on and on and _on_.

He’d always thought they’d have time.

Time.

His fist clenched around the staff that he now used as a walking stick, closing his mouth to wet his suddenly dry throat.

“Fenris.”

The name escaped him. It had been said many ways over the years: amused in a crowded tavern, annoyed while on the road with a certain mage, gasped into darkness and skin and _love_ -

Oh, that was what hurt the most.

There was no reply.

Hawke turned around, heart cracking and sinking into his toes at the figure that now haunted his back - as it had often done over the years.

Head bowed. Shoulders tense. Greatsword drawn and held in his dominant hand. Small puffs of steam rising from under white bangs was the only indication he was alive.

The other name’s name was whispered again, hesitantly, and the figure’s head shot up. Hawke almost wished it hadn’t, wished he didn’t have to be confronted with those glazed, red-rimmed eyes. They often stared at the back of his head, piercing and unnerving and all the more tragic. He swallowed again, taking a step forward.

The greatsword was brought up, pointing at his chest, and in that moment something within Hawke snapped. He was done. He was so done playing this game of back and forth - of denying himself any form of comfort for the sake of- of- _something_.

Pity.

Pride.

_Pain_.

His staff was dropped, forgotten. He dodged the swing of the blade and threw himself against the elf, a ragged noise emanating from the mage’s throat as he pulled him close. He struggled - of course he did - steel gauntlets clawing at Hawke’s robes and cloak.

He didn’t attempt faze into the mage, which was a surprise.

The implications, however, were less pleasant.

Fenris’s knees buckled under Hawke’s weight and they fell, shins smacking against the hard road. And he still clung, even thought the elf had stopped struggling, the greatsword also on the ground behind the mage. The elf made no noise, beside the slightly ragged breathing borne of a day of travel.

Hawke grit his teeth and pulled back, both hands raising to cup the other man’s face. Dark, alluringly green eyes stared at him vacantly, lush, slightly chapped lips remained neutral and seemed unnatural on his face when not being used to express the elf’s emotions - no sign of a scowl or a smirk or a few, rare, gentle smiles that made the mage’s heart beat faster.

But looking at his lips brought with it the horrible truth. Hawke moved his right thumb, tracing the air above the twin tattoos that marred the skin below his bottom lip. Not touching the mark, though. He couldn’t trust himself to. It had been hard enough to resist before, but now-

Now the siren sound of the lyrium was sickly.

_Blighted_.

Hawke swallowed harshly, thumb hovering over the scarlet marks. His stomach turned as his eyes flicked back up, blanching at the unnervingly blank expression the elf wore, no sign of recognition present. Glazed eyes, red-rimmed and bleary. Nothing remained of the dark thoughts or odd humor that the elf usually possessed.

He let out a shuddering breath, stroking Fenris’s cheek with the back of his gloved hand. There was a flinch, not from emotion but simply due to the leather being cracked and rough against the sensitive skin. He let go of the elf and stood reluctantly.

He inhaled deeply, composing what was left of his sanity, then let out a slow breath that steamed.

Hawke then turned on his heel, scooped up his forgotten staff, and continued on the road. It took mere moments for the sounds of shuffling to reach him, the grating chime of metal scraping the dirt followed by the stumbling first few steps that fell in time with his. He couldn’t help the noise that bubbled up in his throat, nor the tightening of his fingers around his staff.

Flemeth had better be where Morrigan said she would in these blasted Korcari Wilds.

He wasn’t sure if his heart could take much more.

\---

(image courtesy of [xarilin](http://xarilin.tumblr.com/))


	2. I remain at your side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hardest part about having memories is that they are all in the past.

It still took them another three days to find Flemeth's home in the Wilds. Well, 'find' would be a strong word for 'stumbled around for Maker knows how long in the freezing cold until they almost ran into it'. Impressive, given that the house was more tall than wide. Having a giant stone tower on one side helped, he supposed.

However, that it was obviously starting to be reclaimed by the surrounding flora did nothing to help the knot that was permanently lodged in Hawke's gut.

He was able to usher Fenris in first and get the worst of the snow and ice off his armor before the elven warrior rebuffed letting the mage touch him. It was like this most nights when they bedded down - a careful dance between Fenris allowing him to do what he wished or staunchly refusing to let Hawke within five feet of him, all with a blank expression and dead eyes.

It would almost be amusing to see his lover act like a fussy child if it didn't break his heart.

 _The sands near Weisshaupt were just turning red from the sunset when he saw Fenris for the first time in months. The elf locked eyes with Hawke from across the_ _courtyard, pinning_   _him with a deadly glare that froze the mage in place as he strode toward him. The punch that whipped his head from one side to the other fast enough to crack his neck was expected - the searing kiss that followed was a happy surprise._

_That Fenris jerked back when Hawke tried to kiss his hands - a sentimental ritual picked up somewhere along the way - was less happy._

_With a disgusted twist of his lips, the elf wordlessly pulled the clawed gauntlet off his right hand and help up his fingers in silent explanation. A slash of crimson marred the normally white lines on his fingertips. Breath hissed out past Hawke's clenched teeth as he took back his lover's hand, thumb rubbing soothingly on his palm as he eyed the discoloration with critical eyes._

_"When?" he asked, looking up with furrowed brows. Fenris sighed, shrugging noncommittally as he looked away in shame._

_"A few weeks ago. Warriors with red crystals growing from them attacked the town I was staying in." he said, frowning and looking back at Hawke. "None survived, but it was not without cost."_

_They both looked down at his red-tipped fingers still held between them._

Hawke was able to get a fire going after struggling with the damp wood supply the hut near the fireplace. He had to use a bit of magic to do it, swallowing guiltily when Fenris flinched and tensed from across the room. The newly-lighted flames danced mockingly in the hearth.

_"Does it hurt?"_

_"Not in the sense you mean, no. But..."_

_"But?"_

_The elf rubbed a line thoughtfully, head bowed and expression hidden by a swath of white hair._

_"Magic feels."_

_"It... feels?"_

_The look in Fenris's eyes could swallow him whole._

_"Yes."_

He sighed, rising from where he had crouched and stretching his muscles. The mage dug through their packs, frowning at how slim their food pouches had gotten. He'd either need to hunt or find a nearby town or village to trade in. Though, granted, he doubted anyone would want to settle this close to the Wilds after the Blight - not to mention the eerie stories that had circulated about them had curled even the staunchest man's hair long before the Blight.

Hawke scowled as he pulled out a strip of the last of their jerky and a hard loaf of bread. Hunting it was, then. He'd have to figure out a way to do it without his shadow of a lover - the elf seemed to no longer understand the concept of sneaking. Perhaps in the morning while Fenris still slept? It would be difficult and his weary bones protested just the thought of such an unpleasant plan. A rumble from his stomach derailed his thought process.

Ah, well, a topic for pondering after they'd eaten.

Getting Fenris to eat was also a challenge in and of itself. But the elf would typically eat the food he was presented if he saw Hawke eating first. It reminded the mage painfully of the first few times Fenris had accompanied him on quests - obstinately suspicious of everything, even just bread and jerky, if it had not come from his own hand. It was a habit that Hawke was happy to see eventually broken, especially since the elf rarely remembered to pack anything but items for his sword and armor. 

That, of course, had made him the perfect target to toss miscellaneous items at. Hawke chuckled at the memory of when Anders had made the unfortunate decision to call the elf the group's 'pack mule'. Thankfully Varric and his mediating skills had intervened before it could come to blows, but he was fairly certain word got back to the rest of their motley crew because Isabela teased him for several weeks afterwards about 'enjoying a ride every now and again'.

Hawke split the jerky and bread in even portions, setting Fenris's share on a fairly clean part of the mantle and moving to the side to let the elf snatch it up in peace. He looked around as he ate, eyes straining against the darkness - the fire was still painfully weak from its poor fuel source, but it at least cut the chill a bit. The hut lacked much in the way of decoration, and what little remained was damaged from the elements. 

No one had been here for a long,  _long_  time.

The knot returned in full force and the mage found he'd suddenly lost his appetite. 

He stuffed the rest of his food into his mouth - no sense in wasting it - and promptly gagged from the dryness. Coughing and brushing the crumbs off his clothes and out of his beard, Hawke stumbled over to their packs and fished out their bedrolls (He didn't trust the lone bed in the hut, for various reasons. Not to mention it was just rude to sleep in someone else's bed. They might be bumming about in the hut, but Hawke had  _standards_.).

He looked over his shoulder after he'd unrolled them and set them up, swallowing when he realized Fenris was watching him.

The elf's eyes glittered in the firelight in a way that hurt the mage's heart.

 _They'd left Weisshaupt as soon as Hawke had been able to speak with the First Warden. He was uncertain if his words had had any effect on the stone-faced warrior, but he supposed one had to be rather unflappable to lead an order whose_ _sole_ _purpose was to keep the darkspawn at bay._

_Fenris had staunchly refused to seek council from Tevinter, so they'd skittered the border and instead sought refuge in Nevarra. Inquiries were meet with outright horror or twisted fascination, and they were eventually forced to move further south as rumors invariably spread about a lyrium-lined elf and tall, broad mage._

_Not for the first time Hawke cursed Varric for getting that damn book published._

_They traveled along the coast for some time, their course taking them toward their old home. Kirkwall had changed in few yet in important ways. The mages were free from the Circle, and former Templars were either true Chantry members or had joined the Guard. Speaking of the Guard, Aveline was still Guard Captain and beloved by the whole city. She'd punched Hawke when they'd entered her office 'for getting himself in yet another mess and not having the gall to tell her himself' - damn that gossipy dwarf! - but had opened her home to them with no questions asked._

_Donnic had been pleased to see them, surprising the pair with the announcement that he and his wife were expecting. The happy mood was quickly soured when they gave the reason for their return, Fenris begrudgingly revealing the marred red lines._

_The infection had spread over the time they'd spent traveling, a constant source of worry as the elf found one more reason believe himself cursed as the scarlet now stretched up passed his shoulder and was oozing down his chest._

Swallowing harshly, Hawke ducked his head in shame to break the hurtful eye contact and flopped down on his bedroll and rolled away from the fire without a word. There were a few moments of silence, broken only by the sharp crackling of the fire. He had to settle his breathing, attempting to relax every muscle despite every fiber of his being protesting it.

The gaze on his back was heavier than the weight in his heart.

Then there were a hesitant few footsteps, sluggish and slow, a body settling down on top of the other bedroll and casting him into shadow. Hawke had to bite his bottom lip, eyes closing.

_Surprisingly, Donnic was the one to suggest that Hawke and Fenris return to Skyhold to seek help. "They've likely got some of the strongest mages and the best minds in all of Thedas right now." he'd said over breakfast, waving a hand, "I'd place my lot with them."_

_The problem arose when trying to find a ship to take them down south. Since the Breach, ships had been fleeing Ferelden and Oralais in droves. With the Inquisition's victory at the Adamant Fortress, traders had been flocking back south with as many goods as possible. Which made it difficult to book passage for two reasons - it was outrageously expensive and pirates were running rampant to pluck up the over weighted ships._

_After a few frustrating days of failing to book passage, Aveline had proudly announced that she had managed to find them a ship. When asked about it, she had merely given them a wry smile and told them not to worry._

_Two days later, in the dead of night, Isabela's ship picked them up from the port (She'd also slugged him hard in the arm - he was beginning to see a frightening trend with his friends and them hitting him on sight) "You'll give me grey hair yet!" she'd said, laughing and swooping them both into a bone-crushing hug. Without so much as a bat of her eye, the pirate captain took in their story and set a course for the city of Jader._

_"If you want my advice, I'd say to try heading to Orzammar first before you go climbing mountains." she'd said when they were disembarking almost a five days later "The dwarves might have some sort of idea of what to do - since they deal with lyrium more than anyone."_

At some point in the night, the storm that had been brewing for days finally broke.

Hawke awoke with a start, the howling from the wind sending chills up his spine that had nothing to do with the fire being nothing but embers. He sat up, rubbing at the grittiness of his eyes and scowling at the foul taste of his own tongue. His body told him that he'd gotten far too little sleep to be awake, but the mage couldn't shake the sense of unease that settled in his chest.

He groggily stood and shuffled over to the fireplace, stoking the embers and adding some more relatively dry wood until there was once again a fire flickering pathetically in its place. Hawke cast his eyes over to where Fenris continued to sleep, curled up on top of his roll and shivering.

Sighing heavily, he picked his own blanket up and draped over the chilled elf, inwardly chastising himself for forgetting to make sure his lover actually used the blanket with his bedroll.

Instead of moving away, the mage stayed close to him and allowed himself to indulge simply in being close to the elf that he loved.

_They traveled to the dwarven city, but there was little help to be found. When they weren't outright ignored, the dwarves treated them with cold disdain or enthusiastic amazement._

_"I don't know what's worse - being treated like a darkspawn or a spectacle." Fenris had hissed after yet another 'lyrium expert' spewed out the same spiel about lyrium being 'alive' or that it 'sang' or even that 'it's a mysterious thing, serahs, and we are still trying to understand it ourselves'._

_The elf's patience was wearing thin, and his symptoms were becoming worryingly intense. They'd agreed that Fenris should refrain from using his lyrium abilities as much as possible, but each day was a test. His dreams were nightmarish, his temper shorter than ever, and he suffered frequent headaches - complaining of an odd, constant ringing in his ears as blood dripped from his nose._

_The day Hawke found him huddled in a corner with a knife - half his hair chopped short, a deep cut on his face and palm, and rambling about still being hunted by his former master - was the day Hawke packed them up and set a course for Skyhold. Fenris had later shamefully admitted to trying to cut his hair because the length was bothering him (he'd grown it out after they fled Kirkwall, and the mage had come to love running his fingers through it) and Hawke had trimmed it the rest of the way after he'd calmed down from his episode so it was once again a short bob._

_The mage had held him for several nights after that, soothing him to sleep and reaffirming his devotion to the elf._

He brushed a few white strands out of Fenris's face with hesitant fingers, chest aching when the elf relaxed to his touch. He looked as exhausted as Hawke felt, dark circles highlighted by the now permanent dull glow of the crimson lines on his skin. The areas around the tattoos were also discolored - irritated and veined with blighted tendrils that spiraled frighteningly far from the main lines.

He took a deep, steadying breath and allowed himself to caress Fenris's cheek - feather light and sincere.

_The people of Skyhold were happy to see them - up until when Fenris had snarled when the Inquisitor had come up to Hawke for a friendly hug and almost ripped out their heart. Once the elf had settled down and willingly been locked in their room, Hawke had haltingly explained their dilemma to the Inquisitor, Varric, and the three advisers in the war room. The Inquisitor wholeheartedly agreed to help - "It's my fault, anyway, that you two were apart." A Tevinter Altus mage and Orlesian First Enchantress were called in, as well as a few dwarves._

_Several ideas were tossed around, and the Inquisitor had even volunteered to see if the mark would have any effect on the blighted lyrium. That concept was scrapped after a few hesitant tests on the red lyrium the Inquisition had retrieved - th_ _ey still barely understood how the mark_ _worked in the first place and the experiments had had more worrying results than positive ones._

_A dark haired woman made a surprise appearance one day, a young boy at her side. Hawke would learn she was Flemeth's daughter and a powerful mage in her own right, and when asked for her opinion, she'd pinned he and Fenris with the most scrutinizing look he'd ever seen. Golden eyes, so much like those of a lady dragon he'd encountered many years ago, seemed to sear the longer they roamed over him._

_After a moment she tossed her head and waved her hand dismissively, saying simply, "Seek my mother. She has a soft spot for heroes - past, present, and future. 'Tis possible she could have a solution." she paused to hum, looking once more at the white-haired elf. "Indeed, she might be the only one willing to give you the help you seek."_

Fenris's eyes suddenly shot open and Hawke barely had enough time to pull his hand away before the elf rolled over and crouched, glaring at the door and snarling, lyrium flickering brighter than he'd seen in a while. The next moment the door to the hut banged open, snow and wind gusting into the small space and choking the stuttering fire.

A hooded figure entered slowly, staff glowing with an eerie green light. Hawke tightened his grip on his own staff, barely remembering snatching it up before the the light of the fire had been extinguished. The three of them remained at a standstill for a moment, frozen and assessing the others. Then the hooded mage lowered their hood and Hawke felt his jaw drop.

"You!" he gasped.

Solas inclined his head with a wry smile.

"It is good to see you as well, Champion."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd originally planned to end in a second chapter - but I'm too fluffy with exposition. The true angst comes later!  
> Also the drastic difference between the previous chapter's style and this one is what I like to call the finals-week-writing effect.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr.


End file.
